Butterflies

the blackness on my nail
an the tears in my eyes
the wrinkles on my skin
the falseness of my pride

the vibrations in my voice
the vagueness of my choice
i wish i would consider
that i cant hear my own noise

the colors in my range
they're all smudged they stay the same
the brown thats in my eyes
its a mixture of the same

i wrote down all my thoughts
the ones i'd maybe have
if i didn't think so hard
and understood my plot

i took into consideration
maybe i'm alive
then again
just maybe not

maybe twist and turn my knot
just a little harder still
wring the wetness out

my chills

wring the knot out in my throat
in my chest
wash me with soap

the sickness in my gut
cut it out
and clean the blood
i want not one trace of me

not for anyone to see

no even me